


these little things define you

by bovines (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:26:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bovines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just want them to divorce, Louis,” Harry whispers into the cotton of Louis’ t-shirt. Louis wonders if Harry can hear his heart breaking for him. “Why won’t they divorce?”</p><p>“They love you too much.” Louis murmurs.</p><p>“If they loved me they’d leave each other.” </p><p> </p><p>or; Harry's parents fight and Louis knows his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these little things define you

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this when i was sad and dumb
> 
> & this is my first work on here so!!
> 
> title from 'Bad Blood' by Bastille

The night is velvet and damp. Louis sits in the treehouse alone, flipping aimlessly through a comic book. Harry will be here soon. It was three in the morning when Harry whimpered through their walkie-talkies. Louis hadn’t wasted time sprinting to the treehouse that rested between their backyards. Their parents had wanted the tree cut down originally, but Harry and Louis couldn’t waste the opportunity.

Louis can hear Harry’s screen door slide open and his padded footsteps on the wet grass. It had just stopped raining an hour ago, and their yards are still recovering.

Harry climbs into the treehouse with shaking and timid movements, and Louis knows it was bad tonight. He never speaks a word until Harry does, simply allowing the boy to climb into his arms and cry, quietly. The first time Harry cried in Louis’ arms he barely noticed it. He would have missed it completely if it weren’t for the quiver of Harry’s shoulders with each shuddering sob.

“I just want them to divorce, Louis,” Harry whispers into the cotton of Louis’ t-shirt. Louis wonders if Harry can hear his heart breaking for him. “Why won’t they divorce?”

“They love you too much.” Louis murmurs.

“If they loved me they’d leave each other.” Louis can’t respond. He doesn’t know what he can say. Therapy is a difficult task at the age of thirteen. He can barely cross his legs without getting hard, let alone explain to an eleven year-old boy why his parents fight constantly.

So, he pulls Harry closer and lets Harry stain his t-shirt with tears and snot, because that’s all he can give to Harry.

 

 

Louis can remember the first time Harry summoned him to the treehouse. It was before they had walkie-talkies, so Louis was awoken by an object hitting his window. He later discovers it was Harry’s Power Ranger action figure. Louis can’t remember which one. Louis immediately opened his window, expecting to find a dead bird, but rather he finds Harry. It was March, and slushy snow lingered on the ground like a reminder. Harry’s pajamas clearly weren’t enough for the weather, because Louis saw him shivering from his second-floor bedroom.

“Harry,” He had hissed. “What are you doing?”

“Please come outside.” Harry’s voice had caried in the breeze, but Louis could tell he was crying. Harry cried often for a six year-old. Whether it be scraping his knee or missing his mum when Louis’ own would babysit, Harry resorted to crying.

Once inside the treehouse, Louis demanded that Harry explain why he had been woken up at such a stupid (Louis had begun to pick that word up from the playground. It was his favourite; more serious than dumb, but not as offensive as retarded) time of night. Harry had shook his head, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Do your parents ever fight?” He had asked. Louis had worried that his lip would bleed if he kept biting at it.

“Yeah, sometimes. Why?”

Harry had nodded carefully. He wasn’t sure to believe Louis, considering he appeared content with the fact that his parents, like Harry’s own, fought. “Can I have a hug?” He finally said. Louis was confused, but agreed. Harry sat in his arms for most of the night, and didn’t return home until the sun began to peak on the horizon.

Louis never told his mum about that day. He didn’t want to get in trouble for being awake so late.

 

 

With age, Louis began to understand. The late meetings with Harry occurred more frequently, and he often found his mum on the phone with Harry’s mum, talking for hours with hushed voices. His mum had sat him down once after he had returned home from school.

“Does Harry ever seem . . . sad, Louis?” She had spoken softly, as if the conversation wasn’t allowed.

“No.” Louis had lied. He didn’t want him and Harry to get in trouble for going to the treehouse during the night.

“Are you sure? You can tell me, Louis. It’s important that I know.”

“Harry’s happy, Mum.” Louis knew it was wrong to lie, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed in the treehouse anymore if his mum knew about their visits. Besides, everyone was sad one in a while. And Harry wasn’t sad all the time. It wasn’t a big deal. Not in Louis’ mind.

 

 

At seventeen and fifteen, Louis and Harry understood mostly everything.

“I wish I was six years old again, Louis,” Harry had cried once. “I didn’t know then. I could pretend it was fine then.”

They never spoke of what happened during the night the day after. They chose to ignore the obvious and enjoy their time together.

But it nagged Louis.

He saw it in the way that Harry hesitated before he left for his home. He saw it in the way Harry would study Louis’ parents when they laughed together. It was like a rash, and as they grow older, it began to spread onto everything Harry did until Louis couldn’t tell how Harry acted without it there.

 

 

It had been a chilling week as October hit with full force. The twins are discussing their Halloween costumes. The night is rigid and cold, like thin ice on a pond.

Louis hears it around nine o’clock. Louis’ mum hears it the same time he does. She announces bedtime for the younger ones, ushering them upstairs and to their bedrooms.

She goes to the door, pressing her hand against the glass as if their home is a jail.

“God, Louis,” She murmurs. “It’s so hard.” Louis isn’t sure if she’s referring to her role or the obvious shouting from next door.

Louis darts upstairs to his bedroom, grabbing his walkie-talkie from off his bed. “Harry?” He speaks into the receiver. “Are you there?” No response comes. Louis knows that Harry’s probably in the thick of it right now. He wishes he could extract Harry from his home with his own hands, but he knows his place. His mum knows her place. They are merely spectators of the match, and their involvement with the game ends at them witnessing it.

Louis can never hear the exact words from next door, but he can guess at what’s being said. Louis sits by the walkie-talkie until one o’clock in the morning, when a quivering breath crackles through the speaker. “Harry?” Louis speaks urgently.

“It’s still going on,” Harry’s voice is breaking. “Please don’t go to bed yet. Stay with me.”

Louis would never tell him no.

 

 

Another hour passes until Harry speaks again. “We can go now.”

Harry’s already there when Louis arrives, his knees curled into his chest. His eyes are red.

Louis holds him.

“I wish you could be happier.” Louis murmurs into Harry’s hair.

“So do I.”

 

Louis turns eighteen on a bubbling December’s day. The excitement is bestowed mostly to Christmas, but Louis can claim a small part.

Harry and his parents come over for a birthday dinner. They all play pretend for a few hours, apart from Harry. Nowadays, he never bothers to act as though everything is fine. He wears his knowledge like a tattoo; it can’t protect him, but you can see it’s there.

Harry’s parents know as well. Their knowledge is worn like a mask; it shields them from what other’s might suspect.

There’s no fighting that night, but Harry calls Louis to the treehouse anyways. They’re both laden with coats and blankets, keeping them warm as snow begins to blanket their yards. They’re pressed close together, sharing their heat. Louis always gives Harry everything he can.

“You’re going to be leaving for university, soon,” Harry whispers. His voice is trembling. Louis hopes it’s because of the cold.  “What am I going to do when you’re gone?”

“You won’t be alone,” Louis promises. “I’ll always come back for you.”

“It’s two hours away, Louis. I can’t ask you to do that.”

Louis isn’t sure of his place anymore.

 

 

Louis postpones his application. Harry protests, arguing with Louis for hours.

“You can’t put off university for another two years just to wait for me, Louis. I won’t let you.”

“I promised you wouldn’t be alone,” Louis sighs. “I’m keeping that promise.”

Louis’ mum never questions why he chose to put off uni, but Louis can tell that she knows. The day after he tells her, she climbs into bed with him, pulling him into her arms like he was a baby. “You’re so wonderful,” She whispers into his hair. “Don’t you believe any different.”

 

 

Louis wishes happy endings were easier. At seventeen, Harry’s sadness converts to anger. He pushes Louis away, only to beg for him to come to the treehouse they’ve overgrown and cuddle him until sunrise.

Louis still watches, because no matter how old he is he’s always a spectator.

 

There’s a fight the night before Harry and Louis leave for uni.

“When I’m a parent, I’m never going to fight in front of my children. They don’t deserve that.” Harry bites, his words clipped and harsh.

“I believe you.”

“It’s so fucked up, Louis. I hate it. I hate all of it. It’s ruined me, Louis. I can’t even help it anymore. I’m going to fight in front of my kids, all the time. It’s all I know how to do.” Harry is crumbling. Louis holds him together.

“You won’t, Harry. You understand.” Louis knows this. Harry’s understood since he was eleven years-old and praying for a divorce that never comes.

“I’ll try so hard,” Harry sobs. “I’ll do everything I can to stop that.”

“You’ll never do it alone.”

 

 

In the end, Harry keeps his promise.

Louis keeps his, too.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you'd like, feel free to comment/kudos.


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